


I Missed You

by bunnypower236



Category: Bartimaeus - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Angst, Humor, M/M, Romance, bart/nat, nathaniel lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-02 00:25:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnypower236/pseuds/bunnypower236
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Almost a year mourning his death and what do I find? The little prat isn't even dead! All that worry for what! And he didn't even have the nerve to tell me? I do believe its time for that revenge I'm always going on about... NatXBart</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Missing You

Bartimaeus

I never really cared to think about the afterlife before. Obviously, you try to avoid dying, and if, for some stupid reason (like say sacrificing yourself for the sake of trying to be some heroic idiot like a certain person I knew) you do die, well, you're dead. So congratulations, you get to rot in the earth for a few decades while the worms chew at you.

But, for once in my vast existence (ok, not exactly once, I thought much the same and still hope for Ptolemy) I actually wished the afterlife were a little more than just a hole in the ground. So it was with a strange twinge in my essence I looked at the scene before me.

I'd never been able to visit a grave before, always being tied down by some greedy magician, but thanks to Kitty, I was back to the same freedom I'd been granted under Ptolemy. At first I spent it seeing sites around London (I say around because London itself is garish place. Nothing but smelly humans, and iron structures that cast out the sky. Ugh. Its no wonder humans are so dreadful, spending their lives in those hovels they call cities) but soon I came the feel a heavy sensation in my essence that no amount of shape shifting or visits home could cure. It was probably because of the time I spent in that little wretch of a boy, but I suspected I was beginning to fall victim to the horrible useless feelings humans called emotions. Not that I didn't have feelings of course (I'd felt plenty in my time, mostly painful and ending with some form of taunting that I don't believe I'll go into now.) but I'd also never been held back by them in the horrible, inhibiting way human emotions seemed to do.

I suppose Nat hadn't been completely horrendous. I mean, he'd been a horrible little prat who wore my essence to the bone (Figuratively, of course, since I didn't really have bones) and sent me on all sorts of nonsensical errands. But then, what magician wouldn't? It was part of their charm, or lack of. He did, however, do one thing of worth; saving me. And I suppose I did sort of understand why he was such a prat after having spent time rattling around in his head. But that didn't mean I actually missed him, did it?

The false boy raised a hand to his eye and pulled it away, glistening with moisture. He was standing around 500 feet away from what was left of a giant glass and iron pyramid. He didn't dare get closer for the cold sting the iron presented, nor did he move away, out of the vaguely painful presence. The ruble had been taped off in bright bands of yellow, proclaiming the danger ahead and several orange trucks and orange-clad workmen worked to clean up the rubble.

After 237 days, the rubble had yet to be properly cleaned. I would cite other examples of the extraordinary laziness of humans, but I suppose with the rebellion and other human issues going on it was understandable. If you understood humans, which I knew I never would.

Flicking the moisture from his hand to the ground, the boy took a step back, into the shadows, and transformed into a scarlet hawk.

There was no sense staying around such a dreary place. I knew I wouldn't get the answers I wanted from it. 5,000 years I'd lived, and only 2 years had been filled with purpose. After Ptolemy summoned me, my life had some meaning, rather than my own ego and self preserving ways to satisfy I had actually found someone to live for. Another 2,000 years after his death I'd had to wait before my life started to have purpose again. And then the moron had to go and get himself killed. Not to say Kitty didn't give me some purpose. Of course I'd give my life to Kitty, she was my everything now, but I never got to see her really. The trip to the Other Place had taken so much out of her the only thing she ever got up to was reading and having an amazingly stimulating conversation with yours truly. I didn't need to protect her because there was nothing to protect her from. And although I loved talking to Kitty, she was much too much like myself, and as amazing as I am, there is a such thing as too much of a good thing. I couldn't really tease Kitty, not like I could Nat.

2,000 years of waiting for another purpose.

And the only one I wanted went down in rubble 237 days ago.


	2. A Choice

_Nathaniel_

It had all started with a choice, a choice that was made in response to one simple question.

He chose to tell a family of strangers that his name was not John Mandrake but Nathaniel. He chose to abandon everything he knew the second the syllables passed his lips, knew without a doubt he'd hit a life-altering decision. He knew this without a doubt, because he's made many life-altering decisions in his time. All horrible, selfish mistakes and he longed to lay claim to one good one.

Nathaniel sighed moodily, trying not to grimace at the scene laid out before his bedroom window. It wasn't that he completely hated the scene; after the few months he'd spent absorbing the salty sea air, listening to the screeching of the fish mongers and the squabbling of the haggling locals, he'd come to love the area. It was just hard not to think of it as a downgrade.

Rather than a posh London townhouse, Nathaniel now resided on the top floor of a slightly rundown apartment complex. The ceiling sloped at odds and ends with the shape of the roof, the two rooms and half bath were positively tiny, and a persistent fishy smell lay about the area, whether from mold or its seaside perch, Nathaniel could only guess.

No, not a downgrade because, for once in his life, the faces he recognized amongst the throng of people didn't fill him with disdain. He didn't treat them with false politeness and curse them behind their backs. He wasn't afraid to scream responses from halfway across the square and worry what others thought of his foolish actions.

He would come to love the scenery, no matter how quaint, because for once in his life, Nathaniel was actually  _living_. He was having  _fun._  And if you had told him a year ago that he, John Mandrake, favorite of the Prime Minister and in charge of wartime propaganda would be living with the enemy, living in some tiny American fish town and actually enjoying it… Well, he'd have laughed in your face, declared you mad, and shipped you off to the tower for dangerous ideas.

But, of course, his time in power had long since passed. He was now a humble commoner – well – as humble as Nathaniel ever got anyway. And he only took odd jobs for the fun of it, unlike the poor commoners who worked for their livelihood just to make ends meet. Nathaniel didn't have to worry about such things because he'd brought a little nest egg of funds along with him that would have lasted for years in England but in the new sprouts of a baby country? Well, he never needed to worry about getting his bread and butter.

That was one thing that didn't really change about Nathaniel. For the most part he was still very selfish but it wasn't wholly in his old way. After all, Nathaniel didn't frivolously spend and slap his wealth in others faces like he might have done as his magician self. Instead, he squirreled it away and kept quiet about it – earning extra wages through helping friends, yes he actually had  _friends_  now, do their daily chores.

It was an odd life, but a good one. Not necessarily hard nor easy – but very satisfying. He supposed that it was a good thing Nouda had very nearly killed him, for without the uprising, Nathaniel would have died a stuffy old arse without a friend or a good deed (that he'd done for the sake of being good rather than polishing his reputation) to his name. Although there were fleeting moments that Nathaniel wished he'd simply died. If he had died he wouldn't have to spend quiet, sleepless hours wondering if Bartimaeus was doing well in the Other Place, or at least under a better master than he had been, or wondering if Kitty's trip to the Other Place ever bothered her, if she was really as healthy as her aura had looked.

But that was in the past.

Nathaniel couldn't tell Kitty he was alive – that would be cruel. By the time he himself had know he was alive nearly four months had elapsed, Kitty would have thought him long dead and, because he would be living across and ocean and would probably die without seeing her again anyway, there was no real point to tell her.

As for Bartimaeus… well, the dijin probably didn't care so long as he was home and free of servitude. As much as Nathaniel wished to see his old servant, he figure Bartimaeus didn't wish to see him. After everything Nathaniel had done to him, it would be a miracle he didn't hate him. Besides, even if all the brutally honest, yet oddly comforting feelings and thoughts Nathaniel had felt from Bartimaeus before dismissing him had, in fact, been for Nathaniel, there was still little reason to summon him again. Nathaniel had given up the pompous magician life, partly by choice, partly because the staff had drained him of most of his power. And Bartimaeus, hating magicians, wouldn't want to see him as one again. That and with the long life the dijin had, Nathaniel figured telling him he was alive would be about the same as doing so and dying the next day. An extra 60 or so years of life was nothing in comparison to Bartimaeus' long existence. Besides, the biggest reason he didn't wish to summon the dijin was because Nathaniel feared that, if given the chance, he would return to his black hearted life. With no powerful magicians left it would be simple to take over London – and Nathaniel feared he wasn't strong enough to resist the temptation.

So it was with this resolve that John Mandrake, and all his magicianing ways, died and Nathaniel emerged.

_It's better this way anyway_ , Nathaniel thought.  _I'm finally afforded the life I would have had if my birth-parents hadn't abandoned me._

With a firm little nod, Nathaniel yelled down across the little square to a group of boys in fishing gear. He grabbed a sketch book off his bed, leaving the sheets crumpled, pulled on some boots and a coat and crossed the small 15 foot space to the door. He pulled a brass key from his trouser pocket, fingering a hole as he did so, and locked the door with a decisive click. He then took the rickety wooden stairs two at a time until he reached the cobble stone walkway at the bottom and all but ran to the group of boys waiting for him. They slapped a yellow fisherman's had on him, clapped him on the back and jumped onto an old fishing boat, white with blue trim and hull, and got right to work untying the thing.

Nathaniel threw his sketch book in the cabin and ran to the sails, where he roped himself to the mast, so the currents couldn't claim him if it got stormy, and began to hoist the mast.

"ALL CLEAR! SAIL'S AT THE READY!" Nathaniel hollered; a chorus of responses assailed him. And with the captain's response, "PREPARE TO DIEMBARK!" the two boys standing half on the boat and half on the old wooden dock heaved back the gangplank and, with a lot of grunts a cruses, pushed with all their might against the dock sending the boat teetering away from the harbor.

_It's better this way…_


	3. The Discovery

_Bartimaeus_

If you were to ask me why the almighty Bartimaeus, Sakhr al-Jinni, N'gorso the Mighty, and the Serpent of Silver Plumes, who rebuilt the walls of Uruk, Karnak, and Prague, and spoken with Solomon and Ptolemy would lower his awesome self to going shopping with a certain girl – why, I would have told you the obvious answer.  _To hold her bags of course_.

That's right, I was wasting a perfectly good day, toting around hats and clothes and other useless female pleasures while she cooed and ah-ed at various items. Well, ok, I  _suppose_  it wasn't that bad. (Actually, Kitty Jones was all business when it came to shopping. Steel-faced, haggling, maniac – she refused to waste a single second glancing at the pretty useless junk that would've stopped other girls in their tracks. No, Kitty had a list of what she wanted and wanted to get the hell out of the dreadful store just as quickly as I did – probably why I was so keen on the kid, anyway.) Kitty had asked me to go shopping with her, not for a second opinion on dresses (Not to say that I'm not good at second opinions, because I  _am_ ) but so I could accompany her to Whitehall afterwards, for some conference or something. I honestly hadn't been listening. All I knew was that she had to wear something 'nice' and that all her nice things had been eaten by a moth infestation about a week back. She quickly bought a pair of smart, black pants and a white button up shirt, changed into them, and then we were off. (Of course she didn't change in front of me! There was a pit stop to the ladies room involved I assure you.)

Unfortunately, Whitehall hadn't stayed burned to the ground for very long. It was still a horrible mess but in that way that all magician residences are – not that it held very many magicians anymore. Apparently there was some sort of council going on for the commoner's rights. Kitty hadn't wanted to go but was somehow forced into it. (She wouldn't tell me  _how_  exactly, and got cross whenever I tried to ask) I came as delightful company. That and,  _supposedly_ , they wanted my testimony. Something about needing the true events of the spirit uprising nearly a year back and,  _possibly_ , creating some laws to _protect_  spirits so they wouldn't feel so mistreated that they had to repeat such an incident. (It would be nice but I doubted it. Piper, although better than most magicians, had been falling back into her old magician ways and I suspected this was a ploy to make her seem like a lovable leader or some other bull. Not that it mattered to me anyway – as long as Kitty was alive I was enjoying my own kind of protection.)

Maybe that was why Kitty came back. She was pretty sharp for a human and probably noticed that the council needed a good slapping to get it back into shape. This was the main reason I came. I'm quiet good at slapping, you know.

"Alright," Kitty smoothed down her shirt and straightened her back, staring at the government building like it would rear up and bite her, "We get in, slap some sense into these morons and then get the hell out. I'm  _not_  wasting my afternoon arguing politics." She made a face with which I couldn't agree more wholly.

"Any particular reason we need the monkey suits?" I asked, gesturing to the smart white shirt and black trousers Kitty had forced Ptolemy's form into (her outfit was quiet the same – right down to the trousers. I asked her why trousers and she'd told me skirts are harder to fight in, like I'd know, but she actually seemed to think we were about to get into a fist fight. I always felt the same whenever I had to deal with magicians).

"Apparently some new etiquette policy. We're supposed to set a good example." She wrinkled her nose.

"Magicians, am I right?" I asked shaking my head.

She grunted a rather rude response (not to me, at least I hope not) and led the way into the building.

The meeting itself was rather slow. Kitty argued some good points, to which the councilmen (and women) reluctantly agreed to or made some abridged compromise of. Nothing too special. They wanted my testimony and I gave it to them (without any of my clever wit, I regret to say. Kitty made it very clear I was to be polite to these goons). Nothing fancy. I told them of my epics and Nathaniel 's stupidity – mainly the moron's decision to go blow himself up. They gasped at that,  _clapped_  even – and proclaimed what a  _true hero_  he was for sacrificing himself and having the heart to save his spirit  _friend_  (I was not his friend, nor did I agree with them. A hero was he? I thought he was a complete idiot. Sure he got a fancy plaque next to Gladstone's, but for  _what_? He was worm food – how is  _that_  heroic?)

Finally after my testimony and talk about a new way of employing spirits (they were very curious about how Nathaniel and I worked together but I told them, unless they wanted to end up like him they should just stick to being nicer to their slaves from now on) the meeting started to wind down. They were going to take a twenty minute break and then begin discussing the rebellion and treaties with other countries, Kitty and I were asked to stay and she reluctantly agreed, telling me to save myself in a whisper. But I wanted to know one thing before they all went to eat cookies and other refreshments, "Have they found the remains yet?" I asked.

"Excuse me?" Ms. Piper looked over at me, in the middle of standing, and with an understanding little 'oh' she said, "Unfortunately not. As you can imagine, we are working on cleaning up the rubble, but there are more pressing matters than…well…  _funeral_  preparations."

"Actually no, I can't imagine. The bloke goes and kills himself for you lot and you won't even bother giving him a proper burial? Sure, fine, it doesn't matter right? He's already buried, why dig him up to shove 'em back in the ground?"

Ms. Piper flinched; "That's not quiet what I-"

"Oh sure,  _sure._ You didn't mean one damn bit right? You magicians are all the same – all talk. You say you'll honor his memories, call him a true hero and leave him to rot under ten tons of rubble. Some _honor._ "

All eyes were on me now, an eerie silence falling over the council. Kitty grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze, "Bartimaeus…" she muttered, trying to calm me down.

But I was on a roll, unable to stop myself. The curious feelings Nathaniel had infested me with worming their way up my throat making my voice strangled, like some sort of disease. "Not you too Kitty!" I growled, jumping to my feet, "Look, I don't know what you humans fascination with burying your dead is, I think its horribly depressing, but you've got one thing right. You actually have  _proof_. When we spirits go,  _poof_ , we just don't exist, no funerals or  _honors_ , we're just  _gone_. At least with Nathaniel you can have some semblance of  _closure_ , I think at the very  _least_  he deserves that!"

Before I could continue, Mrs. Piper cut me off, "Who is Nathaniel ?" she seemed to speak in a trace, and I could barely hear her. "I thought we were speaking of Mr. Mandrake."

I felt ice water rush down my spine, I'd actually been stupid enough to reveal his true name, in  _magicians_ presence no less!

"Well… I…I…" I stammered, feeling my sudden anger die away. Kitty was squeezing my hand so hard it was beginning to hurt. She looked like she was about to cry. "Never mind." I muttered, feeling numb. "Go enjoy your damn snacks." Shaking my head I turned and left the round table we'd been seated around. I pushed past Ms. Piper and out the double wide wooden doors. I wasn't even halfway down the hall when I heard the room explode with conversation.

" _Nathaniel !_ "

"It  _couldn't be_  could it!"

"His birth name! That demon actually knew his  _birth name_."

Ms. Piper was speaking now, "They always seemed oddly close, too close… but I had  _no idea_."

"This is beyond  _anything_  I've ever heard of!" Mr. Button, half excited, half terrified and a dozen other voices I didn't recognize.

"How long do you think he knew it?"

"It couldn't have been long right? He would have killed him otherwise!"

"Killed him! Did you see its  _face_? It's probably in love with him!"

"But it's a  _demon_!"

"It goes against the most basic rules of sorcery!"

"You don't think they-"

But I'd blocked them out now, I was running down the corridor, my feet slapping loudly against the linoleum.

I didn't care where I went; I just wanted to get away from them. I had the horrible feeling my chest was about to burst, my breath came in shuddering gasps – I couldn't understand what was happening to my body, I didn't need air so why did I suddenly feel like I was suffocating? Why was my chest hurting so much?

I suddenly started to feel tired, my feet slowed and I slipped into the nearest room – a library or summons room from the look of it. I slammed the door shut and leaned heavily on it, trying to pull in more air that I didn't need and sliding to the floor in an attempt to muffle the strangled noises that were trying to escape me.

Truth be told, I was  _terrified_. What in the name of the Other Place was  _happening_  to me!

My face damp, my chest heaving, I felt like iron or silver pressed down on me from every direction.

I let the spasm run its course, powerless to do anything to stop it. When I finally quieted, I furiously wiped at my cheeks (the ones on my face of course) and sniffed, trying to regain my composure.

"Jeeze, where did  _that_  come from! Can't a guy get any sleep anymore!" I jumped, not expecting the horribly obnoxious voice to assail me.

I looked about and found a large sphere sitting in a dark corner of the room, cobwebs growing on it, dwarfed by the giant book shelves lining the walls.

I recognized it immediately; it was the scrying glass the council had used before all the magicians capable of using it were killed. I doubted Ms. Piper and her lackeys could control a mouler, let alone the lesser dijin hiding inside the ord. Slowly I got to my feet and walked over, the voice cackled again, it lit up and dimmed in sync with its words, "What's the matter little boy? Those nasty magicians make you cry?" It laughed, its light show was starting to give me a headache and if it wasn't protected in its little dome I would've smacked it.

"I've got an idea, why not let me out? I'll make you feel better, I promise." I laughed again, really starting to annoy me, it was. (You could tell it was at the bottom of lesser dijin from its lack of intelligence and sheer stupidity. It seriously thought  _I_ was a  _human_. A  _magician_  no less. And I was only Ptolemy on three planes! Although after however many decades trapped in there I suppose it had a right to be a little stir crazy).

I was about to respond with a snarky comment when an idea hit me. "If I agree to let you out, will you show me someone free of charge?" It was a gamble, sure. There was no reason this idiot would comply with me, I wasn't a magician, but I was hoping he was stupid enough to try anyway.

He was.

"Let me out of here kid and I'll let you see a hundred people. Who do you wanna see?"

I hesitated. First off the idea was really stupid, hopeless really, in the first place. Secondly I wasn't even sure which name to use. John Mandrake was recorded dead and there must be a hundred Nathaniel s out there. But the sudden battering of emotions had scrambled my wits a bit, so I decided to give it a try.

"John Mandrake." I said.

It wasn't like I expected to see Nathaniel 's face pop up in the orb, but I admit I was more than a bit disappointed when the dijin didn't even try. "He's recorded dead, stupid. Don't waste my time!" he shrieked.

I have no idea how he knew that, from the look of all the cobwebs I would have thought he'd be a little behind on his update.

"So you're not even going to try?" I demanded, seriously wishing he wasn't encased in crystal. I'd make him cooperate then.

"Not gunna bust my hump for your delusions kid. Try again or lemmie out."

I huffed. I was about to leave, there was no point asking for just Nathaniel – I needed a first and last name to scry… well that or a birth name and mental picture… I  _did_  have plenty of those. But no, I shook my head, trying to dispel the foolish idea. When did I turn into a sentimental twit? There was no point trying, he was dead. The best I would get would be an image of worms feasting on his corpse.

Regardless, the false boy placed his brown hand on top of the sphere. It was cool to the touch. He closed his eyes and pictured a pale faced teen with dark black locks and cold, calculating eyes, " _Nathaniel_."

 _Just as long as I know for sure_ … I found myself thinking, foolishly. Like I didn't already know he was dead. I was  _there_.

I felt the sphere begin to warm and suddenly didn't want to open my eyes, afraid of what I'd see.  _Now who's acting stupid?_  I chided myself and forced my eyes open… my legs just about gave way.

A battered old fishing boat filled the orb, several tanned, lean boys were running back and forth shouting things and a few were line fishing. But there, right smack dab in the center with his back resting on the mast, sitting on a pile of ropes, sat a very familiar boy.

He was sketching something, concentrating deeply. I couldn't see his face and I demanded the dijin get closer. With a huff, he did so. And I was able to make out the curve of his jaw, his scrawny neck, jet black hair… suddenly he looked up.  _Right_ at me or the dijin anyway; I felt my breath catch, I'd recognize those eyes anywhere.

He was squinting at the dijin almost as if he could see it, made a face and pulled something shiny out of his pocket. Before I had a chance to make out what it was he tossed it in my direction.

With a yelp, the image fade and was replaced with the ugly warted mug of the lesser dijin. "OW! The little jit pegged me with an iron nail, he did!"

I smiled. I wasn't sure how but I was absolutely positive of one thing – Nathaniel was alive!

I turned to walk off, ignoring the spirit's whining when he yelled at me, "HEY! Forgetting something!"

My smile grew and I danced back to the sphere, "I believe I am." I agreed.

And with that I knocked him off his podium and set the poor bloke rolling about the room. That'd teach him to insult the great Bartimaeus by calling him a  _human_.

The nerve! Some people just have no class.

**Yaaay! Chapter 3 up! Lemmie know what you guys think! :D**


	4. Artists

_Nathaniel_

Nathaniel 's arm quivered. It hurt from holding the pose so long. He stared at his our stretched arm, flexed his fingers, and watched the numb digits move numbly, stupidly.

Not for the first time the words died on his tongue and slowly, finally, he lowered his arm and sat down on his bed. He stared at his feet for a long while and simply sat there. Not thinking, just simply sitting.

He sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. It had grown slightly shaggy in the past months but mirrored a boyish fashion in America, so he kept it.

"What am I doing?" Nathaniel asked no one in particular, feeling foolish. He growled at himself and grabbed a tin from under his pillow – similar to the one he had threatened to trap Bartimaeus in. He smiled briefly at the memory, and then frowned. He only enjoyed the memory for the dijin and felt a flush of embarrassment at his actions. What a prat he'd been. Of course, he could say it was for protection, at the time Bartimaeus had just learned his name but  _still_.

It was this memory that finally decided him. Fingering the tobacco tin he squeezed his eyes shut and told him,  _no matter what_ , he was not going to use magic.

It had only been a few days previous that, with a prickling sensation – the kind only experienced when someone is being watched – that someone had scryed him. He wasn't sure who or how, law stated that after a magician was dead that their name was to be put back into the naming books and no demon was allowed to look for a person of that name until a new young magician took it. The stories were unclear, but the law was said to have passed after several magicians saw something they shouldn't have – something that was only for the eyes of the dead, and soon joined rank to keep the thing secret. The recorded deaths were always the same – insanity, hysteria and  _always_  ended in a suicide made to look like a sacrifice or a reverse summoning. It was unclear what happened to the spirits who carried out the tasks, but they too were never seen again.

Nathaniel shuddered at the thought. Surely no one would be stupid enough to try to scry him then, he had though himself safe! The only other way to search for him, and to get around the rule, was to know his face and birth name. But no magician knew that and it still didn't change the repercussions of scrying upon the dead.

The young ex-magician fingered the tobacco tin in a somewhat nervous motion. Someone now knew he was alive. And whoever that someone was, if they were desperate enough to scry for dead it meant they were deadly serious.  _Most likely making sure I really am dead… and once the truth is out…_  Nathaniel shook his head and forced himself to swallow, despite his dry throat.

It didn't matter. He had made up his mind. No magic. No matter how easy it would be to put up protective charms, or to summon another spirit…

_It was pure luck I survived the first time. If someone wants to kill me then fine._  At the very least he could make whatever poor spirit they sent job a little easier. Nathaniel shuddered to think what  _he_  would have done, had he still been a magician, if he was so desperate to scry dead, and his dijin returned empty handed.

He couldn't help it, but now, whenever he thought of a spirit enduring a punishment, or the Shriveling Fire – he thought of what it'd be like if Bartimaeus was the one tormented and  _he_  the tormentor.

Another shudder ran up his spine.

No. No matter how desperately his selfish, self-preserving mind screamed at him to protect himself from his unseen enemy, he would not. Could not. He could never go back to being his horrible magician-self and risk destroying the small amount of moral conduct he had left. He wouldn't do it.

"Simply moronic…" The pale boy muttered angrily to himself. With stumbling fingers, he cracked open the tobacco tin and pulled out a small rolled cigarette. He stared at it long while, and then touched it to his lips as one might do a pencil. For a long second he held it there. He was about to throw it back in the tin when his bedroom door flew open with a loud, obnoxious,  _"HULLO!"_

In stepped a tall, muscular boy with shaggy blonde hair and a rather stupid grin on his pink lips. He wore grey trousers with matching suspenders that accented his silver eyes, a white button up shirt and a pair of bright, hideous yellow fishermen boots.

"Hello Brandon." Nathaniel said with a sigh, opening up the tin to deposit his unused cigarette. Brandon saw it and asked,

"Up fer a smoke are ya?" He crossed over to the bed, uninvited, and sat down next to Nathaniel . With a flick of his wrist he pulled out a lighter from his breast pocket, "Lemmie give ya a light."

"No thank you." Nathaniel dropped the tobacco into the tin and snapped it shut. "I don't smoke."

"Aw, ya don't have to be embarrassed – everyone smokes over here. I don't know how you Brit's are but you don't have to hide it! I saw it on yer lip a second ago."

"That… that was a foolish impulse. I only keep this tin for… sentimental reasons."

"I'm listening…" Clearly the blonde was suggesting Nathaniel to elaborate but the smaller boy just shook his head.

"Never mind." He said quickly, not about to tell Brandon he was a magician and kept it as a sort of token of his past life – what he'd never go back to. Trapping Bartimaeus in a tobacco tin was the first real threat he ever issued, the one that had spurred a horrible domino-like chain of events he wasn't about to repeat. Irritated of the reminder, Nathaniel demanded, "Why the bloody hell did you burst in here anyway!"

"Oh! That's another five points ta me, Brit! No proper American says 'bloody hell'!" Brandon laughed, taking pride in a private game he and Nathaniel 's other friends seemed to have taken to. Every time Nathaniel was frustrated and used a British term the boy who got him to do it got points; extra points if you could get him to swear. The boy with the most points got to captain Darrel's father's fishing boat when they next went out and the boy with the least was cabin boy. Nathaniel could care less as long as he didn't have to swab the deck. The only problem was that when it got close to one of their fishing days, the boys would hunt down Nathaniel and heckle him – it was all great fun, unless it was you who's skin they were getting under.

"I don't supposed you're here to up your numbers?" Nathaniel asked ruefully, hiding the tin back underneath his pillow.

"Naw, nothing like that – that was just an extra perk." Brandon smiled, flashing crooked white teeth, "I'm here to give you some medicine fer your hand."

"Oh. Well thank you, I guess." Nathaniel , more than a little surprised, took the small bag he was offered.

"Here, let me do it." Brandon said and flipped Nathaniel 's pale hand over where an angry, ugly red mark stretched across the palm. He dabbed at it with a cotton swab he pulled from the bag coated in a foul smelling lotion. "I don't have the slightest clue how you got a rope burn this bad – all you did yesterday was sketch and fish."

"Must've happened when we were hoisting sails." Nathaniel muttered, watching Brandon bandage it up. He felt guilty for lying but he wasn't about to tell his friend the whole reason his hand hurt was because he's grabbed an iron nail too quickly so he could chuck it at an enemy spirit. He was fairly certain his new friends would frown upon a magician in their midst, especially after the war. "By the way, how did you get in here? I was sure I'd locked the door."

"Oh you did." Brandon grinned, Nathaniel groaned.

"Oh come on! That's the third time I've had to fix that thing! If you simply  _must_  break in why can't you just jimmy the lock!"

"First off, no one says 'jimmy' so that's another point and second, I didn't break your door this time – I just took it off the hinges."

"You what?" Nathaniel straightened up in an attempt to see past Brandon to the potentially ruined door. The second the blonde finished bandaging he snatched his hand back and walked over to the empty doorway. Sitting in the hall with a couple of screws and a screw driver sitting forlornly atop it was Nathaniel 's front door. "Well, I suppose it's an improvement." He sighed wearily; thinking of how many times the boys had simply kicked the door down. Normally he would have been infuriated with the property damage, and he had been the first time it happened. But his front door had been broken down and simply gone missing so many times in the past few months he now only saw it as a minor irritation. "I do hope you realize you're putting that back on before you go – Todd's beginning to make a fortune off your mischief and I'm starting to believe you're in cahoots."

Todd was Nathaniel 's landlord who lived just under his tiny apartment. Whenever the door was damaged or off its hinges Nathaniel would give him a shilling to fix it because he himself had no idea how to and refused to learn.

"Well, I wouldn't want to put the old man out of business… Ok! Ok!" Brandon raised his hands in defense, trying to shield himself from Nathaniel 's glare. "But only if you come to the tavern with me and the boys tonight."

"I'll just have to make do without a door then." Nathaniel said firmly and turned to go back in the bedroom, but Brandon caught him by the arm.

"Oh come on! You've been here for months and not  _once_  have you come with us! We're beginning to think you don't want ta spend time with us!"

"So the secret's finally out is it?"

"Hilarious, Nat."

Nathaniel 's eyes flashed, "What did I say about calling me that?"

"That I should only call you that when we're alone… _at night_." Brandon replied in what he obviously though was a seductive, sexy tone. Nathaniel rolled his eyes and smacked his shoulder. " _Ow_." Brandon protested

"I'm serious." Nat growled.

"Jeez ok! Won't happen again,  _Nathaniel_." Brandon held up his hands in defense as if to ask if that was ok.

Nathaniel nodded. "Better."

"You really have to tell me the story behind your little nickname phobia sometime, Brit. Ex-girlfriend trauma?" Nat opened him mouth to speak but Brandon slung his arm around the boy's thin shoulders and said, "So you're coming to the tavern."

"I already said-"

"Nope. This time you're not chickening out. I told Penny you were afraid of her cooking and that's why you don't come – if you don't go and at least have a slice of pie she's probably going to be up bawling all night."

"You're an arse, you know that?" Nathaniel growled and shoved him off. Despite his words he grabbed a coat off the couch and shoved a hat over his ears, "And I want that door up before we get back."

"Right, got it." Brandon nodded, shoving Nat out the door, grinning.

"How the hell did you take it off without me noticing anyway!"

"That, my friend, is a trade secret. Oh and by the way, that's another five points."

The tavern was small, miniscule even, but that may have just been an illusion created by the lack of standing room. The place was positively packed.

Waitresses scuttled back and forth carrying drinks while customers screamed and laughed and shared stories. The noise was deafening, the smell of liquor was almost as bad. Nathaniel had to resist the urge to cover his ears and nose, " _Why_  did I let you bring me here again?" he asked, almost gagging.

"Oh don't be such a baby." Brandon chided, shoving Nathaniel further into the tavern and over to a table huddled into a back corner sat. Several young men were seated around it causing a ruckus. When they caught sight of Nathaniel and Brandon they all gave a cheer and raised their beer glasses.

"I can't believe you actually got Brit to come, here!" It was Darrel who spoke, the fisherman's son. His cheeks were tinted red and his dark auburn locks hung limply about his face – Nathaniel thought it very clear the man was drunk.

"That I did." Brandon smirked, sliding in next to him, pulling Nathaniel with him. "You owe me six pieces fer that."

"Ha! You should've bet more Brandon – I never thought I'd see Natty in here!" A freckled boy crowed with glee as Darrel, grumbling, paid the coins.

"Of course, you dragged me here only for a bet." Nat griped and then turned to the spotted boy, "And what have I told you about calling me that  _Tallulah_?"

Half the boys tried to choke back their laughter by snorting into their cups. Tallulah absolutely hated his name because it was a name for a cute little girl, not a six foot Viking like the boy turned out to be – the only reason no one called him anything other than his nickname 'Tal' was because everyone knew he'd smack them silly.

"Aw come on, we like your company a lot more than six measly coins, right Tally?" Brandon laughed.

"Don't make me hurt you." Tal growled at the blonde, slamming his hands on the table.

"Oh right, throw around your muscle why don't you? If you hate your bloody name so much then don't use those nicknames on me." Nat sniffed and ordered a drink from a passing waitress.

"You're lucky it's my policy not to hit girls." Tal growled and ruefully sat back in his seat, taking a big swig of beer.

Before Nathaniel had a chance to retort and say something that might get him hurt, Todd, another hulk almost as big as Tal, cut in, "Why is it you hate that nickname so much anyway, Brit? It's not like it's a… pfft… a  _girl's_  name." He quickly ducked as Tal took a swipe at him and burst out laughing.

"Stow it, Todd!" Tal screamed and grabbed him by the neck. Before the two had a chance to really get at it and get everyone else thrown out of the bar, Brandon leapt on the chance to get some answers.

"Yeah, England, why don't you come off it and tell us all about the little lady you left behind!"

"Lady friend? What lady friend?" Tal asked, successfully distracted.

"There was no lady." Nathaniel growled shooting Brandon a look and folding his hands on the table in front of him, "I simply don't like being call 'Nat' or 'Natty', it's juvenile."

"Oh  _please_ ," Darrel guffawed, "Like 'Brit' or 'England' are perfectly proper names fer a gentleman?"

"I rather like 'Brit'." Brandon said sheepishly, hoping Nathaniel wouldn't soon ban that nickname too.

Nathaniel simply shrugged, "Those don't bother me."

"Come on, there has to be someone attached to one of 'em then. Someone ruined that nickname for you right? A bad breakup maybe? I know I can never be 'Brandy' again." Brandon made a face, remembering some unpleasant memory.

"Well that's a real shame; I rather like 'Brandy'." Nathaniel grinned. Just then the waitress dropped off his drink and gave him a distraction. He took a sip and said, "Better than expected."

"Bet-  _better than expected_!" Todd blurted, it was his family who ran the local brewery. "Well off course it's good, you sod! What did you think it'd be like!"

"Oh please, he's  _British_ , I bet he's never had ale – don't let him get us off topic!" Brandon chided Todd.

"Oh, right."

"Come on, you never tell us anything. You must've left some sweetie, some girl, back in England right?" Brandon pushed, set on the idea that only a girl could turn someone from a nickname.

"Again, there was no girl. If you simply  _must_ know an old friend called me that and I rather not have anyone else doing the same. Alright?" With a sigh Nathaniel took another swig of his drink, his thoughts briefly lingered on the face of a smiling Egyptian boy.

"Oh I see." Darrel hiccupped; he'd downed another pint and was practically falling out his seat, "This  _friend_  a guy you were screwing, right?"

Nathaniel chocked on his ale. He raised a hand to his mouth, coughing violently, spraying the table with beer. Did they think he actually… with  _Bartimaeus_?

"Yeah, actually that makes a lot of since, it does." Brandon mused.

_No it doesn't!_ Nathaniel frantically tried to control his coughing fit; he'd taken about half the glass down the wrong pipe. Much to his horror the other boys smiled and started to ruffle his hair and playfully punch him. Todd laughed " _Ha!_  So  _that's_  why you won't take Penny on a proper date, eh? Not you're 'type'!" and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

Nathaniel shoved the others boys back, and shrieked, "That's  _NOT IT!_ " slamming his hands down on the table.

But the other boys were all smiles and suggestive eyebrow raises now.

"Aw you don't have nothing to be embarrassed about." Darrel said.

"I bet it's the guy you're always drawing, right? That colored kid?" Said Todd and a round of laugher and playful punches went off when Nathaniel blushed heavily.

He wasn't  _always_  drawing Bartimaeus, was he?

"You must miss him a lot then, huh?" Brandon smirked, resting his smug face in the cup of his hand.

"I've got a question." Tal was grinning mischievously, obviously out for revenge. "Who was the girl?"

"Pfft, it'd  _have_  to be Nathaniel right? You saw the drawings!" Todd giggled.

Nathaniel felt his ears burn, "I already told you gits, it's  _not like that!_ "

"Oh! He said 'gits'! That a point ta me!"

"Ooh, if he's resorting ta British he  _must've_ been the girl!" Tal laughed.

"Oh  _buggar off_  you arse!" Nathaniel yelled, stomping in foot. He blushed harder and swore again when the boys all laughed again and counted off the points they'd earned.

Knowing the boys would be on him about this the rest of the night; Nathaniel yelled a couple more choice swears and stormed out the tavern door into the chill night air. He wrapped his coat tighter about himself and muttered to himself, "Like I'd  _ever_  touch that infuriating spirit!"

He was mumbling angrily now, protesting everything the boys had said. He hardly noticed when he passed the threshold of his apartment, the door still sitting sadly outside.

"And I'm  _not_  always drawing him!" Nathaniel threw his coat on the couch with an angry huff and plunked himself down next to it, crossing his arms, a deep, upset 'V' etched between his brows. His expression softened briefly to one of puzzlement as he realized he was sitting on something. Shifting, he pulled out the offending object; a spiral bound, battered green sketchbook. He felt his heart thump briefly and he flipped the book open.

A picture of Kitty. He sighed with relief and flipped to another page – a landscape. "Hmph. I bet I only have one stupid drawing of him anyway, those arseholes…" Nathaniel found an unexpected relief filling him, he'd actually been afraid of what he'd find.

Chuckling at the absurdity of the notion he flipped another page and found a well detailed sketch of an Egyptian boy lounging. He frowned.  _Well, that's just one._  Nathaniel thought and hurriedly flipped the page.

This time it was a picture of a gargoyle that Nathaniel quickly skimmed past. The next of the boy again, two more, three. Nathaniel started frantically scanning the drawings, some of London and people he knew, like Kitty, but most of the Egyptian form Bartimaeus favored or various other guises. The gargoyle appeared several times, a noble bird, similar to a hawk, a snake headed man, a beautiful maiden trapped within a bubble and then a buffalo tapped within the same thing. After all the fantastic forms there came disturbing images that Nathaniel couldn't remember drawing, ones that left a pang in his hearth and horrible guilt seized his throat. A gimp frog, a puddle of slime…

Nathaniel threw the sketchbook away from him in horror. It landed with a horrible crash in the tiny kitchenette directly opposite his couch.

Had he really been drawing Bartimaeus that much? Did he really feel that guilty? Or worse – did he really miss the spirit  _that_  much?

Nathaniel shook his head numbly and made his way past his bed room and into the tiny bathroom. He stripped and stepped in to the shower letting the hot, steamy water run over him and stared at the drain.

He watched the water drain at his feet and willed his memories to go with it.

**I really should be busy having a life right now buuuuut… don't really see you guys complaining :P Hope ya'll liked it! Please review if ya did! :D**


	5. Check Fanfic

Haven't had alot of time to find my old chapters to post so those of you who are tired of waiting for update, I always update fanfic first and in fact have up to 14 chapters of I Missed You there. :) 

you can find it at -> https://www.fanfiction.net/story/story_preview.php?storyid=6936512


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